


Would you believe?

by Chippier



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Amnesia, Fluff and Angst, Hopeless Romantics, King!Harry, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chippier/pseuds/Chippier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Draco, you’re in love with someone you haven’t met and aren't sure exists. It’s ridiculous.”<br/>“He does exist, Pansy! I’ve been with him when we were little—“<br/>“That was so long ago, Draco. You’re not even sure if what you remember are real. Surely, you must have moved on now—“<br/>“No, Pansy. He’s real and we’re going to meet again. I know it in my heart. One of us is going to find each other soon.”</p><p>[or the one where Draco is an orphan but a hopeless romantic; Pansy is his realistic (read: cynical) and concerned best friend; Umbridge is the evil aunt; Ron is the son of merchant who delivers their daily supply of milk; Dumbledore, Minerva, and Slughorn are fairy godparents; and Harry is everyone’s jaded king.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Promises

**PROLOGUE /** / Promises

 

{1}

When he was three weeks old—Harry wasn’t sure, he was just _so_ young then—his father, King James III had promised him for marriage. It had been a shock for the kingdom and its neighbors—to promise the prince and heir of the kingdom to the son of a rich merchant (but a commoner, nonetheless) was unheard of. However, the King marrying a singer and daughter of one of the guards was unheard of also, but King James still went with it.

So, you see, Harry’s father was full of surprises and had little, if none, care for some traditions and expectations.

Anyway, the prince’s supposed betrothed was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, old friends of the King and Queen. Lucius and Narcissa, both too cynical to fall in love, had fallen for one another in the midst of helping Lily and James sneak out of their responsibilities to meet. The years of sneaking out and double dates have led to a double spring wedding in Hogwarts’ plaza, where the people and commoners have danced in celebration for their King and friends. The disdain and soured faces of some conservative dukes weren’t enough to leave a dent on the kingdom’s happiness.

Two years after the celebration, the Prince Harrison James Potter of the kingdom of Ladon was born, just over a month after Draco Malfoy, his betrothed, was.  Three weeks after, in the first beautiful morning after a series of nights plagued with thunderstorm, the King made the grand proclamation of the two babies’ engagement.

 

 

{2}

Harry didn’t understand why he had to meet Draco “officially” on his seventh birthday. They’ve known each other, played, and done many things together since Harry could remember! What did “officially” mean? It didn’t even make any sense.

Disgruntled, Harry asked the question to his mother for the millionth time. “Mummy, why do I have to meet Draco _officially?_ ” He cringed away from the brush his mother, the Queen, had been attacking his hair with to pout at her. If it weren’t for the ‘official meeting,’ Harry would have been running around the kitchens or gardens with Draco while waiting for his birthday party to start.

Apparently though, that was not possible on a seventh birthday celebration and now he had to wake up very early to have his hair washed and brushed a million times. He was also fitted into very stiff and stifling clothes that would make climbing trees or sneaking under tables very difficult indeed.

The Queen chuckled, her hand over her mouth.  Harry had always been persistent; he’d been pestering and grumbling about all the _extra_ fuss over his birthday, which unfortunately included not seeing his best friend for the past two weeks.

“Love, it’s just for today, right? The whole kingdom needs to see you and Draco together,” she tried to explain.

 _Together._ Harry still didn’t understand. “Why, Mummy? Draco and I have always been together.”

Queen Lily patted her hand on her lap, and Harry climb on it. She framed her son’s face gently and said, “Well, you know how your father and I are together? The way Lady Narcissa and Lord Lucius are also together?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Mummy. That’s called marriage, right?”

“That’s right, love. Well, we wanted to see you and Draco together that way when you’re older.” She smoothed Harry’s fringe with her hand, only for it to revert to its messy state.

Harry’s green eyes widened at his mother’s words. He and Draco in a _marriage?_ Harry’s knowledge about what adults in a marriage are supposed to do are limited. Based on his observations on the couples he’d grown up being around, it consisted of always being together, having to make up quickly after fights, sharing your stuff to each other, and always waiting for one another before going to sleep. Well, he and Draco had been doing that since they were little; they’d even promised to be each other’s best friends _forever._ So Harry thought that he and Draco would have no problem with marriage.

Plus, if he and Draco were to be together for a long, _long_ time like their mums and dads, then Harry has all the time in the world to perfect creating the flower crowns that seemed to always make Draco happy. Also…

“Mummy, that means that I have to start practicing using swords, okay?” Harry said urgently, surprising his mother.

“Why so, Harry?” she asked in a laugh. There was a crease between Harry’s elegantly-arched, black brows as an evidence of the seven-year-old’s seriousness.

“Well,” he rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t believe how his mother could be so oblivious, “so I can protect Draco, of course! There are bullies and enemies of the kingdom that want to hurt him and I want to be able to drive them away, Mummy! Draco always disliked swords; he said he prefers learn archery so he can be like Artemis but that won’t do when his enemies are close; I’m gonna protect him then!”

“I always knew I had a very, very chivalrous son,” the Queen chuckled. In her mind, however, she thought of how Harry couldn’t have been more right; looking at the boy she loved so much, she felt so proud that he really was growing into the noble man he was declared he was going to be.

 

{3}

“Draco! Draco! Draco!” Harry flew down the stairs upon seeing the small family by the double doors. He jumped over the last three steps and ran towards Draco, who had broken from his mother’s hold and was running towards Harry, too.

“Harry! I missed you—oof!” Draco staggered backwards at the force of Harry’s sudden embrace. His arms went around the other boy also. He laughed out loud, a childish, musical sound that Harry had missed for the last two weeks.

“I missed you too, you- you-“ Harry panted, lost for words to call the boy in front of him as he stepped away to give the latter space to breathe. “Never mind. I really missed you.”

“Me too,” Draco smiled at him. “I hope they never do that to us again.”

“We won’t. I doubt that you’d let us, still,” a voice said behind Draco.

Harry looked up and noticed that Lady Narcissa and Lord Lucius Malfoy had approached them. He smiled shyly at Draco’s mum. She was always so beautiful. Harry always thought that she and his mum were beautiful, but different kinds of beautiful. While Queen Lily reminded Harry of the paintings of warrior princesses from the books at the library, Lady Narcissa looked like winter fairies—ethereal and dainty.

“Hello, Lady Narcissa. Lord Lucius,” Harry said with a bow to the couple.

“Harrison,” Lord Lucius said, returning his bow. He looked intimidating, like always, but he winked at Harry. Draco, who saw this, giggled lightly behind his hands. “Happy birthday.”

“Yeah! Happy, happy birthday, Harry!” exclaimed Draco happily, enveloping Harry in a tight hug once more.

Harry laughed out loud, grasping the arms that wound around his shoulders. “Thank you.” He looked down at Draco, whose grey eyes looked and seemed to twinkle up at him gleefully, then up at the Malfoys. “Can Draco and I play now? Since the party and ceremony are not going start in the afternoon?”

Before Lady Narcissa’s assent and reminders to be careful with their clothes and not to tire themselves were over, Harry was already running towards the gardens with Draco behind him.

 

{4}

Draco and Harry were tired. They’d explored the kitchens, only to be driven away by the cooks there; went to the stables to see if they could go riding, only to see Dobby and Kreacher asleep; and ran to the gardens to pick up the brightest and biggest flowers to make Draco’s flower crown. After that, Harry had pulled Draco to their favorite oak tree at the farthest corner of the garden to rest.

He’d been watching Draco create two flower crowns from their harvest, watching his best friend’s small, pale fingers weave branches and stems together into a circle. Draco had always been better at it than Harry.

“Hey Draco. Did you know that we’re going to get married someday?” he asked, sitting up and drawing closer to Draco.

The latter didn’t look at him, only hummed. It was not until Harry poked him in the side that he huffed, “If you’re like this, I’m never going to want to marry you.”

“Hey!” Harry didn’t understand why, but he just felt really annoyed when Draco said that. “My mum said that we’re going to get married like our parents were!”

“Well, I personally think that it’s going to be tiresome to be around you always,” sniffed Draco. He smiled sweetly at Harry. “Aren’t you afraid I’m gonna get tired of you, Harry?”

Harry grumbled; whenever he looked at his best friend, and dwelt on the way the sun light bounced from his hair, and how his laughter seemed to fill the big palace Harry called home, he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of Draco. He would always want his best friend around.

An idea struck him.

Harry launched himself at Draco, taking care not to squish the flowers around them, and tickled the boy beneath him. Draco shrieked in laughter and pleaded for Harry to stop.

“No!” growled Harry playfully. “You have to promise, Draco! Promise me you won’t get tired of me and that you’ll marry me someday! Come _on_!”

“Harry! H-Harry stop! Please!”

“I won’t stop until you promise!”

“Okay! Okay!”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay. I promise I won’t get tired of you and that we’ll get married someday,” said Draco between deep breaths, when Harry ceased his tickle attacks.

“Yeah?” Harry’s grin was so wide.

Draco smiled and nodded. “But you have to promise me another thing, too.”

“Anything!”

“Promise me that you won’t get tired of me and that you’ll ask me to marry you someday.”

“That’s easy, Draco! I promise to not get tired of you ever, and one day, I’m going to ask you to marry me. Just like how those books your mother reads say. You’re going to be my Queen? Or fellow King?”

“My mom said that I’ll be your Consort.”

“Whatever you want to call yourself, I’m fine with,” Harry said, grinning. He started playing with the soft locks of Draco’s hair. “As long as you’re going to be with me, it doesn’t matter what we call ourselves as we rule the kingdom!”

Harry didn’t notice the pleased blush on Draco’s cheeks, but it didn’t matter. At seven years old, he was _so_ certain that he and the boy beside him will _always_ be together.

 

{5}

When Draco and Harry were presented in front of the kingdom and the foreign visitors who chose to witness the ceremony, everyone was clapping. Draco was wearing a flower crown of peonies, roses, and other blossoms that they’ve found in the gardens. Harry, on the other hand, was wearing on his head a wreath of holly branches, mistletoe, and a plant with small white flowers that Draco also wove for him.

That night, when the party was in full swing, Draco and Harry were dancing merrily with each other to a lively song the royal band of artists had been playing.

“This is so fun!” Draco cried gleefully to Harry over the din, doing a pirouette with his hands raised above his head.

Harry, who was doing an awkward jig—unlike Draco, he hated their dancing classes—, grinned back at him. They were both flushed and tired, but this was one of the rare instances that their parents seemed lenient on their bedtimes, so they were going to milk it as much as they could.

“I hope- I hope we have more dances like this!” Draco said, taking one of Harry’s arms and spinning beneath it again and again.

“When we’re older, let’s have lots and lots of festivals and celebrations!” Harry replied, laughing gleefully as he spun Draco in dizzying circles.

“Promise?”

“Yeah!”

 

{6}

When Harry was nine years old, he discovered what love really was and how it felt like. He only used to read about it in books and witness it happen to some people, but it was during a Sunday afternoon, at tea, that he realized that he was in love. He told this to Blaise Zabini, one of his closest friends since he started sword training, but the latter just ignored him in favor of the chocolates that his father brought for them.

Harry wasn’t deterred, though. He went to his mother, who was having tea by herself at the palace sun room. He ran to her side, bowed quickly, and burst out, “Mother, I _know_ now that I’m in love!”

Though apparently startled by her son’s declaration, it wasn’t evident as Queen Lily just smiled gently at Harry and asked, drawing him closer to her, “What makes you say that, my love?”

“Well, for starters, I realized that it’s… it’s only when Draco is around that my heart is extra jumpy and _happy._ Like I can sing along with the happy songs that he likes to sing, even if I’m really bad at it. Also, Mummy, every night, I can’t wait to wake up the following morning because I just want to do more things with Draco. I can’t wait to watch him learn more musical instruments, taste the stuff he bakes even if they’re not _always_ good because he’s just learning still, watch him perfect his archery, and listen to him talk about the books that his tutor makes him read. And… and…” Harry mumbles something that makes his cheeks turn cherry red.

Queen Lily giggled; she couldn’t help it. She’d expected these kinds of talks to come during Harry’s teenage years; Harry had always felt things too greatly and deeply for his age, so she should have anticipated this.

“What did you say again, Harry? I didn’t quite catch that, love.”

“Oh!” Harry started fidgeting. “I… I _said_ that I just like looking at Draco because… because he looks so pretty and beautiful.”

“Love, you’re calling your friend pretty and beautiful?” she teased.

Harry huffed. “I didn’t mean it like he’s a girl, _Mum!_ I meant Draco reminded me of fairies and winter and that he’s more beautiful than the flowers he wears in his hair, and I really want him to stay with me forever!” He blushed. “Yeah, that’s it. I really, really, really like and love him, Mum.”

The Queen gathered her son in her arms in an embrace. “Well, I’m happy for you, Harrison.”

“I’m going to take good care of Draco, Mum. I’ll protect him for all my life.”

“I’m sure you will. But, Harry?”

“Yes, Mum?”

“Does this mean then that because you’re in love, I’m no longer the most beautiful one in your eyes?”

_“Mum!”_

 

{7}

When Harry and Draco were twelve years old, their parents took them to a large and elegant cabin deep in the forest. This was, according to them, where they’ve decided that Harry and Draco would have to marry one another. Draco believed Queen Lily and Lady Narcissa’s stories that the cabin was protected by fairies and magic; though Harry didn’t believe, he humored Draco by listening to the other boy’s awed speculations on when the fairies would show themselves.

The cabin was made of the wood from what used to be the oldest and largest oak tree in the kingdom. According to King James, legend said that the fairies who used to live in the tree offered the lumber to be used as a rest house for the royal family. The fairies promised to always give the new ruling king their blessing and help during times of need.

The stories made Draco go starry-eyed and excited, and if only for that, Harry was fine with the fairytales.

They were on the balcony of the cabin one night, staring at the stars and lying closely to each other, when Draco asked, “Harry, why won’t you believe in the legends?”

“I just don’t, Dray. Is that so bad?” Harry asked, moving his head slightly to the side so his and Draco’s crowns touched.

Draco hummed and shifted closer to Harry. “I don’t think so. Isn’t it a little… sad? To not believe even in a little magic in your life?”

The prince looked down and saw quicksilver eyes looking up at him. He sighed and gently placed Draco’s head to rest on his shoulder. “My life’s not sad. As long as I have you, our families, and our friends with me, I think. Also, you believe in fairytales and magic so much that you could be believing for the two of us, yeah? So it’s okay.”

“You’re not just teasing me, aren’t you?” Draco asked, jerking his head slightly to hit his prince on the chin.

“Ow!” Harry rubbed his chin with the arm not wrapped around Draco and pinched the blonde with the other one. “I’m not teasing, silly. I meant what I said.”

“I’m not silly,” Draco mumbled, cheeks flushing furiously. Harry, who was focused on looking up at the stars, didn’t see it.

“Yes, you are really silly, but you’re sweet and intelligent and talented and beautiful, so I want you to stay beside me forever, okay?” Harry said softly, and Draco didn’t know if the prince was falling asleep or still teasing him.

“I promised, didn’t I? I’m… I’m going to stay around forever,” whispered Draco, embarrassed at the things they were talking about.

“You better, Draco. No one is as pretty as you,” the prince’s voice drifted at the last words, probably asleep.

Draco buried his face on Harry’s chest, mumbling about stupid, foolish princes and unable to fall asleep with Harry’s voice calling him pretty playing on repeat inside his mind.

 

{8}

Harry’s memories of what happened that night would always be blurry and incomplete.

There was so much confusion and shouting; one moment, he was sleeping on the hammock on the balcony with Draco, and then he was being pulled by his father into safety the next. He could remember that deafening pounding in his heart as he heard screaming— _That was Lady Narcissa_ —and clashes of steel against steel.

He could remember holding on Draco’s forearm tightly. There was no time worrying if it was painful; all that mattered was _Draco shouldn’t let go_.

“Hold on, Draco! Don’t let go of me!” Harry cried over the noise. He had to keep his eyes ahead of him as they make their escape; his only reassurance at that moment was the slender arm clutched securely within his fingers.

If it weren’t for his strong need to get Draco somewhere safe, Harry would have let himself cry in fear. He could hear his father and strange men shouting, a woman’s shrill cackle. Instead, he focused on getting outside the house. They were at the ground floor already, and he could see the front door.

“Draco, Draco, we’re going to run and hide into the woods, alright? Stay with me, stay with me,” panted Harry, pulling the other boy closer to him. When he reached for the latch on the door, long fingers closed around his wrist.

“No!”

“Harry!”

Harry tried his best to pull free from the grip without having to let go of Draco, who was also trying to pull him free. When he looked up, he saw a strange woman leering down at him. The mad glint in her eyes made Harry’s skin crawl, her yellowing and sharp teeth looked like a shark’s.

“Let me go, you witch!” shouted Harry, glaring at the madwoman with all his might.

“No, no, no. I won’t let the little prince and his _girlfriend_ go,” the witch said in baby talk. She suddenly jerked her hand so that, suddenly, Harry was by her side, and Draco stumbled to the floor. “You think you’re already big and strong, do you, _Your Majesty?_ You can’t even protect your _sickening fairy princess._ ”

Harry used her arm as a leverage to kick at her. “Don’t talk about Draco like that! And let. Me. _Go!”_

The woman just cackled as she kicked Harry on the stomach. White lights seemed to burst behind Harry’s eyelids as he doubled over in pain. He could barely hear Draco’s shout of horror.

“Stop it! Let Harry go! Stop it!”

Still crumpled on the floor, Harry felt a flurry of arms going around him, pulling him away from the grip on his arm. The woman’s sharp nails were starting to break his skin.

With horror, Harry just realized that Draco had come close to save him. No. _No._ “No, Draco! Run! Run, please, run!”

Draco stopped kicking and pulling to look at Harry’s eyes. He was crying and shaking his head.

_“Not without you, Harry.”_

The woman was still cackling above them. Draco screamed in pain when the woman grabbed his hair and pulled up.

“No!” Harry screamed, but it was drowned by his friend’s sobs of pain.

“Such a sweetling, aren’t you, Draco?” she cooed. “Just like your mother.” She started giggling. “I think I’m gonna have fun playing with you. What do you think, Harry? Will Draco still be as pretty if we cut of all his hair and skin him alive? Or will he be as sweet when we feed him to the wolves?”

“Stop it! Let him go!” Harry tried to bite the arm holding Draco, but it was for naught. The woman was strong and her grip won’t give. Draco was crying, _crying and shaking_ , and Harry was helpless. He couldn’t do _anything_. He was so, so _pathetic._

But no. He wouldn’t cry. He was going to save Draco.

He looked around, searching for a way to distract the lady so she would let Draco go, then Harry remembered the large granite that he found in the forest and was planning to give to Draco. He could still reach it in his back pocket.

Still putting up a bit of a struggle against the woman, Harry carefully slipped his hand inside his pocket. The woman kept on talking.

“Your mothers and fathers should have seen this coming. They were nothing but useless leaders for the kingdom.”

He could feel the jagged edges of the stone in his fingertips.

“It’s gone quiet. I think they’re done with slaughter. Your mummies and daddies are dead, I think,” the woman cooed.

“No! They’re not!” Draco cried, scratching at the woman’s arms. The woman made her loudest and most gleeful cackle yet, and Harry took his chance.

With a grunt, he swung his hand, and forced the jagged, black stone inside her mouth.

There was a muffled scream, but Harry didn’t care about that. He jumped away from the woman’s clutches and pulled Draco away from her.

“Quick! Run!”

They ran towards the back door of the cabin, Harry praying that they reach it, hoping that they’d escape, wishing with all his might that their parents were safe and that help was coming. He was running with all his strength, dragging Draco behind him, when something cold pierced his side.

Draco screamed and Harry felt the two of them stumble to the ground. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, it was so painful that he felt like he was on fire. There were black spots marring his vision, but he only had eyes for Draco. Weakly, he pushed the other boy away from him.

“ _Go._ Run, Draco. Please.”

“Not without you, Harry. Not without you,” sobbed Draco. “Come on. Stand up please, stand up. You can still do it, right?”

“Draco, go away now!” shouted Harry. “I don’t want you in here!”

Draco’s tears splashed against Harry’s face. “Don’t wanna leave you. I promised. W-we promised.”

“They’re gonna kill us!” screamed Harry. “I don’t want them to kill you. Go!”

It was so painful. Each time Harry breathed in air felt like he was forcing cotton through his lungs.

“Harry, come on,” Draco pulled him feebly.

“I’ll find you! I promise. Everything is going to be okay! I’m gonna find you in the morning. Now, just hide!”

“Don’t break your promise.”

They could hear footsteps. The woman was shouting for them.

“W-won’t break the promise. I love you, you know? Gonna find you so we can get married.”

Harry’s eyes had closed, but he felt Draco’s lips press against the corner of his own, with a shaky of whisper of “I love you, Harry. Please be okay.” There was a slight pressure applied on his wound before the arms supporting Harry’s upper body were gone.

After a prayer for Draco’s safety, Harry let himself be swallowed by the darkness.

 

{9}

One month after the incident, twelve-year-old Prince Harrison was an empty shell.

His parents were dead. His father was killed fighting off seven men, and his mother died protecting Harry from Bellatrix Lestrange, the madwoman who had attacked him and Draco that night. Lady Narcissa and Lord Lucius were killed in the fight, too. He’d been found unconscious in a house of dead bodies by a group of hunters that had noticed the broken windows in the large house.

It was a miracle that Harry was still alive. It turned out that before Draco left, he’d applied a large amount of healing and cooling paste against his wound. Draco had always brought healing paste with him because he knew Harry was prone to wounds and scrapes whenever they went to their adventures.

Draco had always thought of him, and now, Draco was still missing.

No one knew what had happened to the boy. Harry had sent out numerous search parties to the forest and nearby kingdoms, even if he couldn’t have gotten far within a week, but not even one had come back with any news nor clue about the boy’s whereabouts. Harry had first refused to hold the funeral ceremonies for King James, Queen Lily, Lady Narcissa, and Lord Lucius without Draco.

Three weeks after Harry had started the wide search for his best friend but in vain, rumors had started spreading in the castle and kingdom that the future consort was dead. Eaten by either the wolves or the giant snakes from the castle were the most popular speculations on Draco’s fate.

Harry refused to listen to them. He gritted his teeth and reined his anger in to avoid sending them to their deaths.

“Prince Harry.”

Harry looked up from the huge map he’d been looking at to track the areas they’ve covered for Draco’s whereabouts.

“Don’t call me that. From now on, I will be addressed only as Prince Harrison,” he snapped. Draco’s first word as a baby had been _Harry,_ shortening Harrison, and it stuck in their family and circle of close friends. Until Draco comes back, being addressed as Harry by anyone felt _wrong_.

“Pardon me, Prince Harrison,” Remus Lupin, one of this father’s closest friends and advisers said, bowing low. He looked tired and exhausted with grief. Harry would have sympathized, but he had been holding off his grief and tears to focus on finding Draco.

Remus cleared his throat. “I was just wondering when you’d want to proceed with your parents’ and their friends’ pyres.”

“I told you. Once we’ve found Draco,” Harry hissed.

“But, Your Highness, the people— _your_ people—are waiting for the opportunity to send off their beloved King and Queen to the other side. Please consider this,” Remus said. He looked at the _boy_ bent over the table; Harrison had changed drastically within a few weeks. The boy seemed to have jumped from twelve years old, into the man he wasn’t supposed to become until a few years have passed.

Remus didn’t only grieve for the friends he’d lost. He also grieved for the loss of Harrison’s childhood and innocence.

“Remus, I’ll leave you in charge of the preparations for my parents’ and Lord Lucius and Lady Narcissa’s funerals,” the prince said. He still hadn’t looked up from marking the large map.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied with a bow. “Do you have any specific orders?”

“Lilies, daffodils, and white roses. Lots of them.”

“As you wish, Prince Harrison.” With another bow, Remus left.

At the click of the door’s lock, Harry sighed and looked outside the window. It was a very fine day, but he didn’t appreciate it. He felt like everything that mattered to him had been taken away and now he was dying. He felt weak and tired, like an old man. He felt like when he had said goodbye to Draco that night was also the time he’d said goodbye to the old Harry and his childhood.

He was going to be a man, even if his father’s advisors had looked down on twelve-year-old him. He’d been trained for this. He was going to grow up _fast_ and go look for Draco himself, if his soldiers were too incompetent to do it.

_“My life’s not sad. As long as I have you, our families, and our friends with me, I think. Also, you believe in fairytales and magic so much that you could be believing for the two of us, yeah? So it’s okay.”_

_“You’re not just teasing me, aren’t you?”_

_“Ow! I’m not teasing, silly. I meant what I said.”_

_“I’m not silly.”_

_“Yes, you are really silly, but you’re sweet and intelligent and talented and beautiful, so I want you to stay beside me forever, okay?”_

_“I promised, didn’t I? I’m… I’m going to stay around forever.”_

In his twelve-year-old body, Prince Harrison became a king in his heart and mind.

 

{10}

“Albus, are you sure that we shouldn’t bring him back to the palace?”

“No, Horace. The palace is still a very dangerous place for him.”

“But Albus! Surely, you do know what is happening to the prince without him?”

“I do, Minerva. I do. However, we cannot risk Draco’s life. Let them both grow up apart for a few years. Goodness knows, the universe will always insist on bringing them together no matter what.”

“What are we going to do with him?”

“Albus must have an idea.”

“Well, we can’t keep him with us, dear brother and sister. We have many places to be.”

“So we just make sure that nothing bad befalls him?”

“Minerva, there are many ‘bad’ things. Sometimes, we need to experience those to grow. No, we just look after our favorite godchild.”

“So we just watch from the sidelines?”

“Yes, Horace.”


	2. Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter! I'm so sorry for the late update; I really tried to finish it ASAP, but the holidays were really busy for me. Anyway, I _think_ that Draco and his king will be seeing each other today...? I have so, so much planned for this week, and I'll start updating every 1 1/2 weeks after this chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much to you who are reading this. I hope I can hear what you think about this fic as we go and join Draco and Harry get their shit together. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Beginning**

 

{1}

Draco woke up from dreams of running in meadows in full bloom and resting under apple trees. It was a good start of the day; he always tried to look forward to something good in each day. However, the fact that he’d dreamt of his childhood, after a few nights of senseless dreams, should be a good omen about this particular day.

He needed the reassurance of the sign too, because he would be going to Hogwarts— _for the first time!—_ with Aunt Dolores, the girls, and the rest of the villagers. The whole kingdom would gather in the capital of the kingdom to welcome back King Harrison and celebrate their victory against the Northern kingdoms, those that have tried to conquer Ladon since the death of King James and Queen Lily. They’d clearly underestimated King Harrison (Just a _Prince_ , then) who had taken over the throne only a year after his parents’ deaths.

For the past six years, transport between the villages and major towns had been restricted for delivery of goods and services, and was monitored strictly for the safety of the citizens. Because Ladon was a very vast kingdom, and its towns were separated by rivers, forests, and mountains, King Harrison hadn’t wanted to risk his people’s safety and had all places heavily monitored and secured by the kingdom’s soldiers and guards.

Draco, who couldn’t remember much about his childhood and the times before the wars because of an accident, had been confined in Hogsmeade and its closest neighbors. He’d only been able to visit small festivals and village dances because of Pansy helping him sneak out during nighttime. His greatest desire was to see his country and see firsthand the places that Pansy had told him about, especially Gryffindor’s Castle and Hogwarts.

With the end of the wars and the treaties in place, Draco could begin fulfilling that desire _today._

After making up his bed and washing himself, Draco opened the windows of his room and saw that the sun wasn’t up yet. He breathed in the fresh air, feeling exceptionally giddy today, and went downstairs to start his aunt’s and cousin’s breakfasts.

 

{2}

Around him, his soldiers and captains were singing songs about victory and going home. Harry tried his best to smile for them, no matter how tired and drained he felt. They were on their way back to Gryffindor’s Castle, where Harry could finally escape to his bedroom to sleep and visit his parents’ shrines.

He didn’t miss the irony that on the day that the last of the Northern kingdoms surrendered, was also the day eight years ago that he lost his parents, his surrogate aunt and uncle, and _Draco_. Harry would always grieve for them. Even when he had spent the years relentlessly convincing and proving to the kingdom and the dukes and earls that he could step in his role as King at such a young age, they were always on his mind.

“Your Majesty, I’ve just received confirmation that all the preparations for the weeklong festival are set,” Remus told him, breaking Harry from this reveries. The man had been one of Harry’s guides and strongest supporters when he’d assumed the throne and he’d learned to trust him, as his father did.

Harry hummed. “Very well. And the ceremonies to honor the heroes of the war?” He jerked his head to the men singing behind him. They’d lost many valiant warriors within the seven-year war. Harry wanted their indispensable contribution to the start of peace and security recognized by the entire kingdom.

“As we speak, all the people of the kingdom are making their way or gathering in the entrance of the palace to welcome them as heroes, King Harrison,” Remus replied softly. The festival and grand welcome was supposed to be a surprise for all their men.

“Are there accommodations for all the travellers who wish to stay for an entire week, Remus?” asked Harry, trying to make sure that everything was well for his people. This _was_ an important occasion for everyone. It was a beginning for his people after such dark times.

“Yes, Your Highness. Surprisingly, many have opened their homes in Hogwarts to travellers. Other than that, the servants’ quarters were also opened as a temporary dwelling for others.”

“Good. I know that this is an important celebration, but I still want security to be tight and every guard on alert and patrols all day round. I don’t want us letting our guard down no matter how little, am I clear?”

“Yes, King Harrison,” Remus murmured, looking at the young man in front of him with pride. He smirked. “Severus asked me to relay a message, my King.”

Harry grunted and could barely keep rolling his eyes. He knew what the message was.

“He wanted to inform you that all princesses and eligible consorts for your Highness had been invited for the grand ball at the end of the festival. It would be advisable, according to him, if His Majesty would think about choosing a bride in the ball.”

 _Ugh_. “Please tell Severus that I still consider the idea of choosing a wife or husband very trivial and the least of my worries.” With that, Harry kicked his horse to a gallop, leaving Remus behind.

He didn’t want any other wife or husband. Even after eight years, Harry had been unable to accept the fact that Draco was dead, much less think that he could stop loving the boy. The mere thought that he would have to choose and marry somebody to be his spouse and provide an heir for the throne felt like _betrayal._ His heart would always constrict and guilt would flood his stomach; Harry would feel ten years old again, that time when he forgot about his promise to bring Draco’s favorite narcissi and lilies when the other boy was sick.

That was so long ago, but Harry found that these memories could still lift his heart and spirits up. Even as a memory, Draco would still be able to outshine any prospect for Harry’s heart in a beat.

 _I miss you so much_.

 

{3}

“ _Draaaaco,_ the breakfast you prepared this morning is such a bore,” whined Romilda, his cousin, as she moved the scrambled eggs and sausages around her plate. She pouted at her mother, Dolores, and pushed the plate away from her. “I don’t want this. It’s so _greasy._ This is going to ruin my figure.”

Draco, who had been standing near the dining table just in case Aunt Dolores or any of the girls needed anything, bit down a retort. “I’m sorry, Romilda, but we’ll be travelling great distance today. I just thought that everyone would need the extra energy. Hence, the heavy breakfast—“

“Tutut. Who told you, Draco _dear_ , that you can make decisions for us?” asked Aunt Dolores, glaring at Draco over her pink teacup. She was being extra evil today, if Draco should say so. This was her fifth gleeful jab at him, and they hadn’t even been awake for half of an hour.

Nevertheless, he held back.

“My apologies, Aunt Dolores. I’ll just... just bring out the fruits and some bread and milk for all of you then. Like always,” he said, bowing slightly and going to the pantry in the kitchen. He heard Marietta, his other cousin, shout to also bring out muffins. He quickly gathered all the food in a tray and brought it out to them. Aunt Dolores lifted her teacup towards him, and Draco refilled it instantly. She gestured towards her daughters’ teacups, and he refilled those two. He even added the two sugars and three dashes of milk for Marietta and stirred it for her.

This had been his life every single day since he woke up and recovered from the nasty encounter with the wolves that had killed his parents. All he could remember then was his given name and the feeling of great fear and running away. The healer had said that he was suffering from a form of amnesia, and might or might not get his memories back. Aunt Dolores had said that his memories weren’t important; he was staying with them.

It didn’t matter that Aunt Dolores was a cousin of his father’s. They made him earn his keep. He cooked, he cleaned, and he served for the Umbridges. As much as he wanted to run away from his Aunt and cousins, he was an orphan with little to no knowledge of his history or his mother’s side of the family. He had nowhere to go.

Today, he was hoping to change that.

When he had set the food on the table, Aunt Dolores turned to him and said sweetly, “Draco _dearest_ , the girls and I trust that when we return from Gryffindor’s Castle, the house is still in tip top shape, yes?”

It took a moment for Draco to process what her words meant. When he did, he blinked at his aunt incredulously and asked, “I’m going with you, Aunt?” There was a pause as he watched a sickeningly pitying smile spread on her lips. “A-aren’t I”

Before the woman in front of him was finished faking a sad gasp, Draco knew what her answer would be. “Oh no, Draco dear. You didn’t misunderstand what I said last week, did you?” At Draco’s silence, she pouted and placed her hand on his. “Oh dear, I’m so, _so_ sorry. We never intended to take you the festival. It was sad, really, because I was talking to Healer Figg about last week, and she said that the crowds and excitement at the festival will be bad for your mind’s condition.”

It was sad, really, especially with the fact that Draco had visited the healer the other day and she was more than eager to bribe Draco to bring his baked goods for her for the long journey to Hogwarts. Aunt Dolores was lying to him, but this wasn’t the first time.

His cousins were giggling, but he ignored them. This was a lost cause, but he was still going to try.

“But Aunt, I think I am mentally strong enough for the festival. I promise that I won’t have episodes during our stay in Hogwarts—“

“Tutut! We cannot risk your health, nephew. You know how much we care and worry about your state,” she said condescendingly before taking a sip of tea. “Besides, I will only be taking the girls to the Heroes’ Ball. The King will be choosing his future spouse there, didn’t you know? After that, we’ll be going home—“

“As a future queen, Mummy!” interrupted Marietta.

“—so you won’t have to wait and be alone here for a long time,” finished Aunt Dolores. She set her tea down and stood up. “Come on, girls, I have to check the clothes that you’ve packed. Don’t want you packing that is less than what is appropriate in front of King Harrison.”

She _giggled_ , and left the room; Marietta ran after her mother, talking loudly about the beautiful dresses and latest styles they’d be able to purchase in the city.

Romilda was still finishing the last of her muffin, but Draco could tell that she was laughing at him. He was too busy trying to hold the pieces of his hope together to deal with the mockery the older girl was going to dish out at him.

“Oh, _poor_ Draco, look at your face,” she cooed, her eyes mocking as she watched him. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna make sure to introduce you to the King once he’s proposed to me. There should be a lot of vacant of positions for servants in the palace now that it’s peace time, don’t you think?”

_I will keep quiet. I will keep quiet. I will keep quiet._

“Oh, stop pouting, Draco. You’re gonna stay here at the house, because that’s what you’re good for, mental condition or no,” Romilda went on. She stood up and dropped the napkin on the floor. “Please pick the napkin up and be a good _housekeeper,_ cousin.”

Once she left, Draco bent down to pick up her napkin and started cleaning the table up.

He didn’t know what he or his parents had done to deserve the treatment and mockery of the Umbridges, but no matter how much Draco had put up with them in the past years, this was one time that he won’t let them dictate his life. It hurt a little to listen to what they were saying, because they was true. He had nothing. No future, no past, and no connections. He sometimes had fainting episodes, which Healer Figg had explained was caused by the trauma he’d sustained when he was a child. He was considered weak and fragile, even around Hogsmeade.

That didn’t mean, however, that Draco would be stopped by his own weaknesses or relatives. Pansy had told him about the opportunities for work that he could find in Hogwarts, and he was willing to take them. He had a few skills and a good head; his parents must have invested so much in his education, no matter how poor they were as farmers, according to Aunt Dolores.

He was _leaving_. He was going to be free.

 

{4}

Pansy, Draco’s best friend, always had great ideas. She had Draco’s confidence; she was the reason he was able to sneak out under the Umbridges’ nose from time to time, after all. That was why when Draco went to her after putting away his aunt and cousins’ breakfast and told her his problem, he’d expected to see the confident smirk and her signature “Leave it to me” remark.

Draco trusted her.

Now, though, being jostled at the back of a large wagon being pulled by four horses, and his skin terribly itchy from the hay around him, Draco was beginning to regret going with her plan.

“You didn’t tell me your skin had an aversion to hay!” Pansy hissed at him while rolling her eyes. She was lounging comfortably on the stacks of hay, as if it were a bed.

“I didn’t know I had an aversion to hay!” he hissed back, trying his hardest not to scratch his skin from his body. Rashes had started showing up in his neck, and he didn’t want to aggravate his body’s reactions further. Draco was really, really glad that Pansy had thought of it and had charmed Ronald Weasley so they could ride with him to Hogwarts; this mode of transport was just really, really uncomfortable.

“Oi, keep it down there, will ya? I thought you don’t want the toad finding out you went with us?” Ron asked them, leaning down from beside the driver’s seat to look at them. His father was driving; Draco was starting to wonder how Mr. Weasley could deliver all the milk and other goods that he sells unscathed with the driving skills that he had.

“Oh, stop it, Ronald! It’s not like anyone will be able to hear Draco’s whining with all the rattling and jostling going on!” Pansy scoffed then stuck her tongue out at the red-haired man.

“I’m not whining,” muttered Draco under his breath, but he was ignored. He was no longer offended; whenever Pansy and Ron bickered, he became part of the background. He was used to it.

All the residents of Hogsmeade were travelling in a procession. Their village was in the Northern part of Ladon; because it was separated from Hogwarts by a vast forest, their journey would last for ten hours. They would arrive at the castle around dusk, just in time for the beginning of the festival.

Draco, rashes and itches aside, could hardly wait to see the city. He just hoped that they would heal faster so he could enjoy the whole week of celebrations. After that… After that, then, he would think about what to do next in his life.

 

{5}

Harry, who had become bored with the journey, had started riding his stallion, Godric, while lying on its back. It was a skill that he had perfected when he was eighteen and liked to go on rides to the mountains to get away from his responsibilities for a while. He trusted his horse not to go on a sudden gallop when he was in such a position.

He was interrupted from identifying things from the clouds’ shapes by Remus who cleared his throat from beside him.

Harry hummed and looked at the man, smirking when he saw that Remus was staring at his current position disapprovingly. He didn’t comment on it, though. “I’ve just finished talking with the captains, Your Highness. They’ve agreed that we could set up camp for a couple of hours for a break.”

“That’s alright. Have you found a suitable clearing? I’m getting hungry, too,” replied Harry.

“We have, Your Majesty. There is a small meadow in the middle of the forest. Some soldiers have gone on to set up your tent.”

“It wouldn’t delay our arrival, am I right?”

“No, King Harrison. We’ll still be able to arrive before sundown, just as planned. Also…”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Remus. The man rarely ever hesitated when he was talking to Harry. “What is it, Remus?”

“Well, some of our scouts saw a group of travellers towards Hogwarts.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. There were quite a number of young children and old persons among the group, Your Highness. I wanted to ask if we can invite them to join and travel with us.” Remus was eyeing him warily. Since Harry had spent most of his years as King so far in fighting in a war and regulating the security of his people from different villages, he hadn’t been able to interact with the common citizens of Ladon. This was going to be a new experience for the young King.

Harry knew what Remus was thinking, more or less. Most of his experience in ruling a kingdom, so far, had involved meetings with different ambassadors or leaders from other kingdoms, in and out of the battlefield. He could count within the fingers of his hands how many times he had interacted with the more ordinary folk of his kingdom, much less the ones who live far from the capital.

Still, that didn’t mean that Harry was going to snob his people if he was going to run into them in the middle of the forest. He was sure that he didn’t have to make a speech or a grand gesture, so he was okay with this. Might as well practice before the festival and the ball starts.

“You didn’t have to doubt my answer, Remus. Of course, I was going to say yes to that. We do have enough food, though?” Harry smiled at him.

“We have accounted, Your Highness, and it’s more than enough.”

“For a group of warriors _and_ a village?” Harry teased.

“I- uh, yes, Your Highness,” said Remus.

“Go on, then,” the young king said, sitting up and holding on to Godric’s reins properly. He rounded up the horse and shouted to his army that they were going to stop for a quick rest.

Amidst the shouts of joy (everyone was in a perpetual good mood, despite it being midday), Harry leaned to Remus and asked, “Oh, Remus, what village was this you were talking about?”

“The scouts think that they’re from Hogsmeade, Your Highness. They’re one of the farthest villages from Hogwarts.”

 

{6}

They were on a break. They stopped in a meadow because, apparently, the King was also travelling their way, and had invited them to rest and _eat_. Of course, even if the King wasn’t there (just a royal messenger) and even if there was no guarantee that they’d see the King (he had his own tent), the people in the village were in such an excitement. Hogsmeade, as far as Draco knew, felt to be heavily in-debt with the new King, who made sure that enough supplies and goods were delivered to their small village during the war.

Romilda and Marietta were leading a group of girls into re-applying powder and adding more ribbons in their hair. Sometimes, Aunt Dolores adds in a comment or two on what color of the ribbon or hairstyle would suit a particular girl.

Draco was watching all of this from the wagon, still hidden in the crates of Weasleys’ goods and hay. Pansy had gone with Ron a few minutes ago; to where, Draco had no idea.

“Draco, I don’t think your Aunt will see you if you left the wagon for a while,” a voice chuckled behind him.

He turned in fright and saw an old woman smiling at him good naturedly. “Mrs. Weasley! You scared me!” he laughed softly.

The portly woman patted his head fondly and pulled it towards her. Draco followed and jumped down the wagon, brushing dust and hay from the back of his pants. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Do you know where Pansy and Ron went off to?”

“Oh, they helped prepare and distribute food to soldiers and the villagers. Mr. Lupin requested for some help.” They started walking towards the King’s tent, which was, honestly, the biggest and most lavishly stitched tent that Draco had ever seen.

“Do you think I can go to them?” he asked, still eyeing the gold and silver embroidery decorating the tent of the King. Now that he was near the King Harrison, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed, knowing that the hero in the stories he’d heard since childhood is now near them _in the flesh._

“I don’t think they need more hands in there, my dear. Besides, your Aunt and her daughters are making eyes at the guards; they might see you if you join them and Pansy,” Mrs. Weasley answered, still leading him behind the large tent and past it. “If you want to be useful, you can help me and Mrs. Figg pick the best of the cakes you’ve made for us.”

“Oh, alright, Mrs. Weasley. Why?”

“To give to the King, of course!” Mrs. Figg, whom Draco didn’t notice was stooped on the ground in a crate filled with baked goods, chirped at him. She flashed him her gap-toothed grin and beckoned him eagerly.

Draco found himself spluttering. “T-to give t-to the _King?!”_ he couldn’t help exclaiming. “You _are_ a mad old lady, aren’t you, dear Healer?”

Healer Figg just chuckled and patted him on the back. “Why, my boy, I could be _mad_ , but Mrs. Weasley also agrees that it would be a shame if it wouldn’t share these cakes and muffins to our King when they’re so fresh and good.”

“That’s right, Draco. You are a good baker; everyone agrees. Also, a good artist too. Being noticed by the King will give you the opportunity to start a career in Hogwarts,” Mrs. Weasley said, looking at him in the eyes kindly. “Everyone in the village thinks you can make it.”

“Well, the ones who matter anyway,” muttered Healer Figg. “Anyway! Help me pick here, will ya?”

Draco, feeling more lightheaded and more nervous than he’d ever felt before, just stooped beside the two women and pointed his choices, without even thinking them over.

 

{7}

“Are they all eating now, Kingsley?” Harry asked. He was resting inside his tent, stretching his legs in a recliner. He didn’t even feel hungry, just bloody tired. They still had four hours of travel before arriving in Hogwarts.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Head Captains of the guards, bowed low and answered, “Some, My King, though Duke Lupin have asked for some help from the villagers in distributing the food.”

Harry just nodded and went back to the book he was reading. The moment they had invited the villagers to their stopover, Kingsley had ushered him inside his tent. The man was muttering vaguely about the need to avoid avid and too eager admirers.

The King merely shook his head in exasperation and let himself be led. He had no care for admirers, or future lovers. The ache and emptiness of losing Draco seemed to have become a background music or noise in his mind since losing the other boy. Nothing could cure it; he just knew it.

The flap of the tent was opened from the outside and Colin Creevey, one of his attendants, entered. He made a low bow, and said, “Your Majesty, there are elders from Hogsmeade who would like to express their gratitude by bringing you cakes.”

Harry put down his book and looked at the still bent attendant curiously. “Cakes?”

“I assure you, Your Majesty, they’re completely safe, and… and worthy of the King’s tastes,” the young attendant said, blushing.

 _Ah, so he had already tried them,_ Harry thought with amusement. “Well, if you say that they’re really good, I would have a taste, Creevey.” He looked up at Kingsley. “Captain, please escort these elders inside.”

 

{8}

“The King requests you to come inside,” a tall and big soldier told them, and Draco let himself be led inside. He was already too nervous and intimidated at the prospect of meeting the King without dwelling on the large sword strapped in the man’s waist, or the fact that he was as tall as the soldier’s shoulders.

 _Maybe this is why we won the wars,_ Draco thought in weak amusement.

Mrs. Weasley and Healer Figg, on the other hand, were beside themselves with excitement. They refused to let Draco help them carry the basket of cakes and told him to relax and ready himself to meet the king.

That was half an hour ago, and Draco feels so _far_ from relaxed. He didn’t even have an idea why meeting the King of Ladon felt like a very huge scare on him. None of the breathing and calming exercises that Healer Figg had taught him when he was young worked.

It didn’t matter, though, because they have entered the tent, and Draco was looking at the most handsome man he had ever seen.

At the end of the tent, the King was sitting at the head of fairly large oak table, reading a book. His hair looked windswept and was as black as ink. Draco had the urge to run and arrange it through his fingers; he had a strong feeling that it wouldn’t do anything. The King had a well-sculpted face, reminiscent of princes and warriors from the storybooks Draco sometimes secretly borrowed from the Umbridge’s library. He was _breathtaking_ —Draco could feel the power and authority emanating from his gait and build.

However, it was when King Harrison lifted up his head and revealed his fiery, emerald eyes that Draco realized that his King was _enthralling._

It was too late when he realized that the two women with him had paid their respects and addressed the royalty in front of them. Flustered and disconcerted, Draco, of course, had to do something absolutely embarrassing.

“M-my King,” he muttered, and curtsied.

He didn’t know why his legs, arms, and hips did that, but still-- he was a man, who perfectly curtsied like a princess in front of his king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are reallyy appreciated. See you till the next update!


	3. The Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is an early update. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger for the last chapter and this chapter. I hope you don't hate me that much because my younger sister surely did when she read this. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading this. I really, really appreciate the kudos and comments you give this fic. More notes at the end of the chapter. Enjoy reading!

 

 

  
**The Welcome**

 

{1}

During the early weeks of Draco’s disappearance, many people came forward to the throne with claims of the blonde’s whereabouts. These were all fabrications, sadly, and were made up by cruel people who wanted to take advantage of the grieving prince and get their hands on the huge sum of gold Harry had set as reward for finding Draco. There were also those who dared bring forth twelve-year old boys with disfigured faces, and dyed blonde hair, declaring that they had the lost Malfoy heir. These people were surely insane for thinking they could fool the prince; Harry would be always able to isolate the shade of his childhood sweetheart’s silken hair from any blonde.

After the first batch of liars where thrown into dungeons, and a couple of imposters were tortured by an enraged Harry’s orders, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape had forbidden the prince from dealing with information related to finding Draco Malfoy.

Harry always freely admitted that he was too emotional and impulsive with anything related to Draco. That was why the first few years of his reign were difficult; Harry only had to make decisions as a king driven by grief to find out that it wouldn’t work. After agreeing to Remus that he had to meet a counselor—Severus, who was also his mother’s dear friend— he talked to the man about his experiences and feelings. The talks had helped Harry cope with, if not get over, his grief and loss, and instead, use his memories of his parents, the Malfoys, and Draco to strive into becoming a better king.

Now, eight years later, Harry could say that he was much better at pushing down his loss. Even if he was nowhere near accepting that Draco could never be found, his heart still skips a beat at daydreams of the blonde coming back home and continuing where they left off. Sometimes, he would let himself be carried away, raising his hopes up too much at the sight of familiar pale skin and willowy build, or light gray eyes, only to be disappointed; the shade of the hair, the demeanor and gait, or the voice was always wrong.

His heart, however, had never stuttered like this in the past eight years. ­­­ Not even in the battles did King Harrison’s heart feel faint, but it did now. He had lifted his eyes from the book he was reading with mild interest and straight into light gray eyes that made his mind teem once more of pictures of stardust, silver pieces, and fireworks. Harry had experienced déjà vu before, but it never felt like this: like a punch in the gut, sucking the air from his entire lungs.

The man in front him, aside from the stunning eyes, had a rather willowy build, from his pale skin, narrow shoulders, and thin wrists. Harry, whose eyes were trained to take in details fast in the battlefield, saw that he had blotches— _burn marks?—_ on the man’s neck and face, which also seemed a little bloated. Finally, Harry noted the soft-looking ash-blonde locks that framed the pointed chin.

_It’s not Draco, Harry. Stop it._

Red marks aside, the man was very, very beautiful. Harry was used to seeing beautiful men and women; no, what caused the reaction from him was probably the thought that with platinum blonde hair, unblemished skin, and better clothes, this was how Harry had pictured Draco in their age. His quicksilver eyes were a painful reminder to Harry. The memory of the loss made his heart constrict at the injustice of losing the blonde.

He barely acknowledged the two elder women who had paid their respects to him, eyes still glued on the blonde between them. The latter seemed so flustered at Harry’s attention that he immediately dropped to a curtsy, instead of a bow, and stuttered, “M-my king.”

Everyone else in the tent was startled at the gesture, except for Harry, who watched the man freeze in his bent knee and the blood rush in his pale cheeks, making such a fetching flush. He straightened up quickly, his eyes on his feet, and burst out, “I- I apologize for that, Your H-Highness. Please believe me, I meant no d-disrespect.”

 

{2}

Draco wished that he had fairy godparents, because he had decided there and then that the deepest and greatest desire of his heart was to melt into air, or be swallowed by the ground. He always knew that he didn’t have a masculine personality, but to actually curtsy in front of the King was unacceptable. Trying his best to school his pounding heart and growing humiliation, he avoided looking at the King and stared at his worn boots determinedly.

“Raise your head now. I didn’t find it disrespectful,” the King’s deep bass reached Draco’s ears. The sincerity and slight playfulness (maybe he imagined it?) in the royalty’s tone chased the tension from Draco’s body away, making him feel boneless and grateful. “It was amusing for me, thank you,” the King chuckled.

He looked up at King Harrison incredulously and found a small smile on his lips. It was just a small tilt on the king’s lips, but Draco saw it. It was too much for him already, and he felt the flush in his cheeks intensifying.

“If you say so, Your Majesty,” was all he could think of replying.

Honestly, Draco wished that he would never have to meet with kings or royalty for the rest of his life after this, if he was only going to act foolishly and embarrassingly in front of them.

Someone—Colin Creevey, the attendant—cleared his throat and said, “Your Majesty, these are Molly Weasley, Healer Arabella Figg, and…” The young man looked at Draco questioningly for his name.

He cleared his throat and said, “Aster. Aster Black.” He didn’t know where the name came from, exactly, but it would have to do.

“Uh, Aster Black. They want to present to you some baked goods as gratitude to Your Highness,” Creevey finished. Draco could only feel affection towards the women in his side for not reacting about his lie.

The King nodded his head and gestured for them to take a seat with him in the table. “Well then, Mrs. Weasley, Healer Figg, and Aster, let me have a taste.”

 

{3}

Aster was an excellent baker, Harry found out. Harry had decided that the berry-filled doughnuts and treacle tarts were his absolute favorite; they even beat the cakes and other pastries made in Gryffindor’s Castle. Harry was ashamed to admit that he might have let himself go in front of his subjects and _enthusiastically_ consumed more than what was polite and acceptable as a King.

Harry should be chastising himself, but he couldn’t quite get off his mind the memory of the young baker’s pleased smile at watching Harry eat yet.

“You seemed to have enjoyed yourself, Your Majesty,” Remus commented as he watched Harry saddle Godric with less weariness than the King had shown at the start of their journey. It was time for them to continue on their way to Hogwarts, unless they wanted to miss the beginning of the festival.

“Somewhat,” Harry replied, patting his stallion fondly before mounting it. “I’m just excited right now to be back at the castle. I haven’t seen it for the better part of the year.” He smiled sadly at the thought of his parent’s graves, and the room he had dedicated for Draco; he’d sobered from the thought of pastries immediately.

He would be back at Gryffindor’s Castle at last. His kingly duties, aside from leading the kingdom’s military, were going to _really_ start. The kingdom had been at a standstill because of the wars; Harry and his advisors endeavored to keep the economy alive by keeping up with their usual trades and exchanges with other kingdoms, but it wasn’t easy. Now, though, Harry had planned the weeklong festival to be the beginning of transitioning from the war. The bigger responsibilities no longer felt daunting for Harry, who had learned so much even in his young age of twenty; no, they just seemed empty… and sad.

Battle-worn and victorious, he and the warriors were going home. Harry’s heart started racing at the thought. _It’s never really going to be home without you, Draco._

It was supposed to be a happy moment, where he can hear the joyous singing of his army and villagers of Hogsmeade. They started moving forward, with Harry on the lead and a young squire waving Ladon’s coat of arms following him.

All King Harrison could focus on, however, were memories of flower crowns, flying lanterns, singing, and a young boy with flaxen hair being spun happily in his arm.

_“I hope- I hope we have more dances like this!”_

_“When we’re older, let’s have lots and lots of festivals and celebrations!”_

_“Promise?”_

_“Yeah!”_

Harry had come a long way from dealing with his grief, but there would always be times like this, when he wondered why the force of his desire couldn’t just make his Draco materialize in front of him and make everything better. Severus and the years might have helped in taming his grief, but his yearning will always, always be strong and deep.

 

{4}

“You said your name was _what?_ ” hissed Pansy at him indignantly, a deep crease between her brows and incredulity clear in her dark eyes. Since they were on the move again, Draco, Pansy, and now Ron, were at the back of the wagon, with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at the driver’s seat.

“I said my name was Aster Black,” Draco replied, cringing at his best friend’s reaction. He paid attention on the wool blanket that Mrs. Weasley wrapped around him instead, to lessen his contact with the hay.

He couldn’t believe that he lied in front of the King and other important people from the palace about his name. He actually lied _to_ the King. He said his name was Aster Black, instead of Draco—he’d never known his last name. Aunt Dolores had forbidden him from using Umbridge, and hadn’t even told him his father’s family name. She had said that it was awful, notorious, and looked down on, and he was better off not using it anyway.

Draco didn’t believe her, but didn’t push it anymore, after he’d been made to scrub the chimneys and deprived of food for a week because of his persistence.

He only had himself. He was just Draco, and had to be content with it. His name was all he had from his parents, and Draco tried to drive the loneliness away by telling himself that at least, he had something from his childhood. Not everything was taken from him.

“Why, Draco? Why did you have to lie?” asked Pansy, who looked desperately trying to not strangle him.

“I just thought that if I was going to make a new start, I might as well start with my name,” he replied.

“But that’s it, Draco, you’re building a new life! You’re not going to hide from the Umbridges; who cares if they were going to find a Draco working in Hogwarts, or Gryffindor’s Castle? Look at me, please,” his friend said more gently. When Draco met her dark eyes, she asked, “Why are you trying to change yourself?”

“I’m not trying to change myself,” he replied hotly. “It’s just a name, Pansy. I’m still Draco, whether or not I work or introduce myself in Hogwarts under that name.”

Mrs. Weasley and Healer Figg had been understanding when he explained why he introduced himself as Aster Black. Unlike Pansy, they didn’t ask much questions.

Truthfully, though, Draco didn’t want to stand in front of King Harrison as an orphan with no name and history. He didn’t want to be pitied on because he had no family, no money, and no certain future. Aster Black was a blank canvas that Draco could paint on with a past and a family. No one would know better.

Pansy gave a long sigh. She was giving it up now, but Draco knew the fight wasn’t over. She just cared too much like that. “Why Aster Black, of all names, though?”

He shrugged. “I like Aster, because it means star. My name’s a constellation, remember? So there was a connection. For Black…” He honestly had no idea. He didn’t have a large stock of family names in his head, having known only the people from Hogsmeade and some villages. As far as he could remember, he didn’t know anyone who was called Black, but it was the first that popped in his mind and just went with it. “I don’t know why Black, though. Is there a family like that?”

“I think I’ve heard of some Blacks that live in the North. They were an old family,” Ron decided to speak up.

“Maybe you knew a Black from your childhood?” Pansy asked uncertainly. Aside from weird and vivid dreams from time to time, Draco’s memories hadn’t shown a sign of coming back in the previous years. He cherished every vivid dream he had, but had given up from remembering a long time ago, opting to live with what he had now.

“Maybe. Aunt Dolores have never been in the North, though. And what would we have been doing in the woods near Hogsmeade at a time before the war started? It doesn’t really matter. I bet there are many Blacks all over the world.”

Pansy leveled him with a very serious look. “Just be careful, Draco. You do know that if the King asks for a background check on an Aster Black, not a stone will be left unturned. If that happens, well, there’s a large chance that things will get complicated very easily. Promise me that you’ll be careful?”

Draco, who had never thought of the consequences of such a lie, ignored the pounding in his chest and just nodded. As they drew nearer and nearer to Hogwarts, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding dampening the excitement that had been fuelling him since morning.

 

{5}

They reached the Black Lake an hour before dusk. This meant that they only had half an hour, on fast trot, before they reach Hogwarts. Harry felt a deep sense of nostalgia looking at the lake and the great walls of Hogwarts that were visible on the other side. The lake was the large body of water that separated Hogwarts from the Dark Forest, which used to serve as a camping site for the Northern armies. It was because of the walls, and the lake, that Hogwarts hadn’t been infiltrated during the wars.

Before the wars, though, the lake was a sacred place, at least for Draco. He thought that the reason the lake was so still and smooth at night was because it served as a dance floor for fairies and other enchanted creatures of the Forbidden Forest during their balls and dances, when everyone in Hogwarts was fast asleep.

_“Harry, do you think souls and spirits are also invited during those parties?”_

_“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”_

_“It would be nice, don’t you think? To still come back to Hogwarts, and dance with the fairies, even when we have moved on to the other side?”_

A loud trumpet blare broke Harry’s reveries, and he straightened his gait. It was the royal signal that the King was near; the people would be gathering near the gates with shouts, music and song. There were other trumpets that also sounded from a distance; they were from other members of the army who had travelled through other routes.

This was it.

“Your Highness, as planned, you would be leading the procession past the gates, and into the outer courts of Gryffindor’s Castle,” Remus, who had caught up with him by horse, said.

Harry merely nodded, and took the flowing crimson cape that Remus handed to him. He clipped it on his shoulders. “The army from the North and East route will be joining us right before we enter gate, am I right? Make sure that the villagers of Hogsmeade are not left behind.”

“We arrived early, Your Majesty, so we don’t have to haste too much. Some knights and squires are now assigned to accompany and instruct the villagers on what would be done,” Remus replied.

“Good. Remus, I plan to retire to my chamber right after the parade. That won’t cause any problems, would it?” the young king asked. Another trumpet was blown, this time much longer; it was the second signal for the king’s arrival.

Remus’ eyes softened as he looked at the young king. He knew that all Harry wanted right now was to lie down in bed, or visit his parents’ graves. “No, Your Highness. Since all the major concerns about tonight’s dance had been addressed and approved by you, Severus and I will take care of overseeing it. We’ll make sure that you won’t be disturbed.”

“Thank you, Remus.” Harry flashed him a small smile. He looked forward and saw the iron gates of Hogwarts drawing near. A third, much longer trumpet blare was sounded and a large gong and loud set of drums were started to be beaten. As if on cue, fireworks burst above Hogwarts, and muffled shouts could be heard beyond the walls.

_“King Harrison! King Harrison!”_

Remus grinned at the slightly flustered king. “You come home as a hero, and they can’t wait to see you again, my King,” he said.

Harry just hardened his face and said, “ _All of us_ are coming back home as heroes, Remus.”

The Duke just smiled fondly and murmured, “Your parents are surely very, very proud of you.”

Harry pretended not to hear what the older man said and snapped Godric’s reins so the stallion started galloping. As he left Remus and the rest of his army behind, Harry couldn’t help but wonder—just this once—if his parents joined the fairies’ parties in the Lake when he was gone. He wondered if Draco would be with them.

 

{6}

Draco was awakened from his slumber by the first trumpet blare by one of the Captains. When he looked over the wagon, he saw that they were already out of the forests, and were travelling beside a large lake. At a distance, he could see the high walls that surrounded Hogwarts.

It was all so beautiful.

“That’s the Dark Forest,” Ron, who was also watching the scenery beside Draco in awe, said, referring to the thick forest that was adjacent to the woods they’d come out of. He pointed at the forest that surrounded the high walls. “Then that’s the Forbidden Forest; the books say that during the old times, that was where the enchanted creatures and fairies mentioned in the legends of Ladon live.”

“Amazing,” Draco breathed.

“And that’s Black Lake,” Ron said, pointing at the lake.

“B-Black?”

“Oh, don’t worry, love,” Pansy snickered, joining their sightseeing. “It’s called Black because it looks like black ice during the night. You should see it during midday or morning. It’s so smooth it’s like a mirror to the skies.”

“Oh, okay.” Draco thought that his heart had dropped at hearing that the lake was called Black.

Pansy sighed. “I’ve seen this when I was younger, and I thought that some of the magic would have worn off. I was wrong, though. Hogwarts is more beautiful than I remember.”

Another trumpet blare, the longest, was sounded, and drums were starting to be beaten. Suddenly, fireworks burst against the sky. Draco, who hadn’t seen fireworks before, thought that the different colored lights looked so breathtaking against the blue, orange, and pink hued sky. Then, the chants began.

_“King Harrison! King Harrison!”_

It wasn’t just the villagers or the soldiers around them that were chanting. From different parts of the forest, and even inside Hogwarts, it seemed, everyone was shouting the name of their king in time with the drums and gong. It was overwhelming for Draco, who hadn’t actually comprehended, until now, how much support the handsome king had, and how much responsibility was placed upon his shoulders.

“Wow,” Draco couldn’t help voicing out his thoughts. His heart was beating fast and wild; he was being swept away in the jovial emotions of everyone around him, leaving him breathless and exhilarated.

“This is awesome!” Ron bellowed, standing up in the wagon, and started shouting the king’s name also. Pansy didn’t join the chant, but she was grinning and standing too.

Draco didn’t join his two friends standing because he couldn’t risk being caught by his Aunt and cousins. He was still huddled in his blanket, staring at the view and merriment all around him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t show wild support to the young king like that; his heart seemed to beat to the tune of the name of the young king he’d met just this afternoon, anyway.

_Harrison. Harrison. Harrison._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. You know what happened when they met, obviously. A slight explanation: This was not how I intended it at first, believe me. However, this fic is taking a shape on its own, going in a slightly different direction than initially planned-- and I like it much, much better.
> 
> I'm just gonna repeat this, just in case it wasn't emphasized enough during the chapter: Adult Draco had ash-blonde hair. This is important. Yes. It is.
> 
> Anyway, your comments or reviews are highly, highly appreciated! See you next update!


	4. Heroes' Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this very late update, everyone! Thesis revisions had taken so much of my time last January, and I was barely able to squeeze in time for writing. But I did it-- and here's the third chapter!
> 
> This is for everyone who commented in, gave kudos to and read this fic. Seriously, guys, thank you.

 

 

  
**Heroes’ Festival**

 

{1}

Hogwarts was spectacular.

Feeling as if his heart was bursting at the seams with awe, Draco could picture the wide main streets occupied with stalls and stores of different merchants selling various goods. Maybe if he just drowned the background noise just enough, he would be able to imagine the small kids running from their parents’ grasps to look at the bright, dyed cloths being presented by a man standing outside his store or hear the bakers shouting about their freshly baked bread.

For now, though, the well-paved streets were taken over by the marchers, and all kinds of performers—all in a procession that had come together the moment King Harrison had passed the giant wrought iron gates. Some citizens who didn’t join the parade were hanging from the windows of buildings or standing by sidewalks to watch, sing along, and wave colorful flags for the performers. Children and women were running to keep up with King Harrison, who was at the head of the parade towards the castle, to throw petals of different flowers for him and the soldiers. Garlands of lilies and daffodils were being distributed and hung around the homecoming soldiers’ necks.

A little while after they have passed through the gates, Pansy had pulled Draco and Ron off the wagon so they could walk through the city instead. They agreed to meet with the other Weasleys’ at the outer courts of Gryffindor’s Castle.

They started weaving through the crowds of spectators and performers; Draco couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling from his lips when he saw some men with elaborate body paint and golden bracelets breathe fire from their mouths. It was all so spectacular. He couldn’t help looking left and right so fast, afraid that he might miss something as they followed the slow moving procession to the courts.

“This is more exciting than I imagined!” he burst out in Pansy’s ear so that she might hear.

“I know! King Harrison and his court surely did go all out!”

Somehow, Ron had been able to get some candied apples for each one of them. As Draco took and let his first bite burst into sweet goodness, he couldn’t help but think that this was definitely one of the best days of his life.

 

{2}

To say that Pansy was startled when Draco threw his arms around her was an understatement. The blond rarely showed his affection through actions like embraces or kisses; he always opted to do it in something more discreet, like cooking, helping her with chores, or any other seemingly mundane thing.

They had reached the outer courts of Gryffindor’s Castle a few minutes ago, following the procession of citizens into a plaza filled with stalls of food and even more merchants and their goods. There were performers all around with their spectators clapping and cheering for them with awe. Pansy, on the other hand, had been waiting for Draco to get over whatever was inside his mind when he’d first seen the majestic castle up close. For the first time.

The sun had fully set by that time, and lanterns that hung in string above them lit the entire place. Also, for this special occasion, all the windows and torches inside Gryffindor’s Castle were lit up. With the castle’s lit-up high turrets, towers, and the gardens hanging from the rooftops, it certainly looked like the centerpiece in the huge celebration.

Pansy’s breath had been stolen by the view around her; she knew, though, that what she felt was nothing compared to her childhood friend’s. She didn’t know why Draco had been feeling emotions deeply ever since they’d stepped foot in Hogwarts; maybe she’d never understand, and that was okay.

After a few moments of staring up at the sky and the castle in wide-eyed wonder, Draco had thrown his arms around the young woman and drew her closer to him. Bewildered, Pansy just patted him on the back awkwardly and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I- I don’t know. I just felt so overwhelmed and happy, and I needed to anchor myself. Or else I’m going to faint or lose my sanity, Pansy,” Draco answered with a sniff. That was then that Pansy realized that Draco was crying. Sure enough, when she pushed the blond away from her, there were tears in his quicksilver eyes.

“Hey, why are you crying?” she asked weakly. Draco was so different today.

Quickly, he furiously wiped his tears with the backs of his hands and said, “I don’t know, Pansy. I don’t understand, but” he looked up at the castle again and smiled tremulously up at it, “I feel like I’m close to this place— _like my heart recognizes it._ It’s like I’m connected to this place, and I’m finally home.”

“There you go again, Draco, spouting your spiritual and imaginative thoughts,” was all Pansy could reply. She was smiling, though.

Draco just laughed, used to his friends ribbing of his tendency to believe in the supernatural, and just wiped the wetness from his cheeks.

“You’ve never changed since we were children, Dray. You’ve always been a crybaby,” Pansy joked. She remembered how vulnerable Draco had seemed when he first came into their village. He had cried when they’d slaughtered cattle, or when Pansy’s grandmother had died, despite not really knowing the old woman that well. He had best been able to sympathize with the children and elderly in the village and helped; it was one of the reasons why Draco was so loved in Hogsmeade.

The young Pansy had thought that the young Draco was very weak because of his feelings, and had befriended him with the intention of protecting him from bullies and his cousins. However, as she grew up to know him more, she had realized one important thing. Draco, even with his unusual beliefs and tendency to value the smallest and insignificant of things, was very kind-hearted, even in the midst of cruelty.

For that, he was one of the strongest people Pansy ever had the pleasure to know.

She might have picked on him for crying because of happiness, but if Draco was feeling some long-lost, deep connection with a place and a castle he’d never been, then she was happy for him.

 

{3}

The royal family’s private library was the largest library in Gryffindor’s Castle. This wasn’t only because of the extensive collection of literature, journals, and scrolls that every member of the Gryffindor line had collected over the years, though. It was also where King Harrison had hung portraits of his parents and ancestors. Surrounded walls that also shelved books, faces of past kings and consorts looked down on him when he entered the library through the large double doors.

It’s been quite some time since Harry had spent time in this room. He had hurried into the library after the welcoming procession not to stare at his ancestors’ faces, nor to read books, but to look upon the face of the one that he’d been getting his strength from since he became king.

Draco’s.

When Harry became king and had to move into the royal chambers, he had wanted to bring everything that had something to do with his childhood friend with him, including all paintings ever made of him and those that included the two of them. Severus had refused and argued that being surrounded with reminders of his lost love would make it harder for Harry to move on and deal with his grief.

Harry hadn’t given up without a fight. It wasn’t just any fight, though. He had shouted and resisted with all he had; he’d refused to listen to Remus and Severus, the only members of the council who supported him (during those times, though, Harry thought them to be overbearing). It wasn’t until that Severus’ patience had snapped and attempted to set fire on the stack of Draco’s drawings did Harry relent.

The man wasn’t overtly cruel, though. Even if he had hidden all Harry’s mementos of Draco in the king’s private treasury (It was because of Harry’s insistence), Severus allowed Harry to keep one painting of the blonde to be put in the family library. No one else, aside from those invited by the King, was allowed inside the library. It was no surprise that Harry spent most of his spare time in the library, if not in the gardens, telling himself that he could feel the blonde closest in these places.

“Harrison, you’re supposed to be outside the courts or in the great hall, mingling with your barons and dukes,” a voice said behind him disapprovingly. Harry wasn’t surprised. There was only one person who didn’t call him King.

Harry turned around and met Severus’ dark eyes levelly. In the few months that he had been away from the castle, he’d grown taller than the man. “I’d been away from my home for the most part of the year; now that the war is over, don’t I deserve to do something for myself, Severus? Even for just a while?”

The man didn’t answer; he just arched an eyebrow at him, and stepped beside him to look up at Draco’s painting. It was one of the last pictures painted of the boy. It depicted Draco sitting on a stack of big tomes of fairy tales and legends in their favorite spot in the royal gardens. There were white rosebushes and lilies in the backdrop. Harry could still remember how hard Draco had pleaded to his mother and their family painter to allow him to wear the crown of snowdrops, lilies, and daisies that Harry had made for him. It was clumsily made, with some stems and branches falling out of the circle, but Draco had loved it.

_“But!” Draco had stomped his foot, a rare of show of petulance to the always kind hearted boy. “I never complained when you refused to have a painting made of just Harry and I together. At least let me have this, Mom!”_

_A sheepish Harry had his eyes glued to his shoes, embarrassed that he had partly caused the outburst. Even if he couldn’t see, he knew that Draco would have his puppy eye look on full force, with his pink bottom lip jutting out slightly. He heard Lady Narcissa sigh, and the painter say,_

_“Young Lord Malfoy, if you want to wear a flower crown, we can have a much prettier and cleaner one made for you. No offence to His Majesty, but this crown is hardly aesthetic at all.”_

_Harry winced, completely agreeing inside. He reached for Draco’s hand, threaded their fingers together and was about to convince him to just let the matter drop, but the blonde said,_

_“It’s not about aesthetics! I can pose for a thousand more paintings in the future, but this—_ this—“ _he lifted the flower crown slightly, his voice becoming fonder, “this is the first crown that Harry made_ for me _without my instructions. I want to wear it for this. Doesn’t it make the painting more meaningful then, Mother? Don Angelo?”_

_Pale fingers squeezed Harry’s hand then let go, when the painter acquiesced to Draco’s request. The young blonde threw his arms around his mother in thanks and carefully placed and arranged the blossoms carefully on his head. He turned to Harry with a beatific smile._

_“Thank you for this, Harry. It makes me so happy.”_

The painting had turned out beautifully. Draco’s white shirt and his wide smile brought out the silver in his eyes. He looked so young and carefree, the leaves and petals stuck in his hair and fringe making him look like a young dryad. Harry’s fingers itched to reach out and up to touch, but he kept himself in check; if Severus had the slightest inkling of what was going on inside his mind, he might have ordered to get the painting removed.

Instead, he settled on looking, no matter how the void inside him seemed to gape more than it had before.

Harry cleared his throat. “I met someone new when we were camping today. He looked so much like Draco.”

Severus turned to look him, but said nothing. His eyes were intense, and Harry knew that his words and facial expressions were being carefully dissected and probed inside the other man’s mind.

Harry continued, “They had the same facial features, Severus. Gods, when he stepped in the tent, I thought that my heart had stopped. But it wasn’t him. The hair, the skin, it wasn’t Draco.”

“What’s his name, Harrison?”

“Aster. Aster Black, and he’s from Hogsmeade.” Harry sighed, and turned to look back up at the portrait. “He had darker hair, and red marks on his neck and face—“

“Do you want me to look for information about him?”

Harry remembered the total unrecognition from Aster’s eyes this afternoon. The man had been embarrassed, defensive and shy in front of the King. He’d convinced himself that he knew Draco more than anyone else; Harry had always imagined their reunion to be filled with happy tears, intense emotions—the culmination of and farewell to years of loneliness and longing. Two hearts coming together as one at last.

“I was tempted to do that at first,” he said, shaking his head. “But… I don’t know, Severus. I—“

“I remember that Narcissa Malfoy had come from a line of a rich, old family from the Northern Kingdoms. They were also called Black and they disappeared when the dictator Voldemort had taken over the throne; there were rumors that they were killed to eliminate competitors to the throne. It was never proven, however. Popular belief was that they were exiled and the line had died out.

“Maybe you’ve met a long lost cousin of Draco’s. Don’t you want to know more about him?”

Harry glared at the duke. “If you’re trying to set me up again, Severus—“

“No, Harrison. What I meant was simply—wouldn’t have Draco been thrilled to find out that he had a long lost cousin, after all? I know that you remember better than I do how much he wished that he had many relatives and had a bigger family.”

Harry looked up at the portrait again. Draco did wish for a big family, when they were young. “He would have been happy. Well, go find more about Aster Black, then. Do what you want.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Severus murmured, bowing low before Harry. Harry reigned in his surprise; it was so rare to see the man bowing in front of the King. “You deserve your rest, Harrison. It’s been a long eight years for you.”

With that, Severus left the room.

 

{4}

Romilda quickly hid behind a nearby tapestry when he heard footsteps from Duke Snape coming nearer. She had followed the King to introduce herself, but had stopped when she discovered that he was headed to the royal private library. Everyone knew that only the royal family was allowed inside the library; she didn’t want to offend the king in their first meeting by breaking that rule.

She determined to wait by the door until King Harrison had come out, but Severus Snape had entered, and Romilda wanted to know what they were talking about. She knew that the duke was one of the men who organized the Heroes’ Ball and who was firm on the King taking a Consort. Maybe, maybe she would learn something that would increase her chances in winning the King.

Oh, how wrong she was.

Romilda seethed with anger behind that tapestry as she waited for the sound of the duke’s footsteps to disappear. _In love_. King Harrison Potter was still deeply in love with Draco Malfoy. How was that even possible? How could he still love a memory—someone believed to be _dead_ —for eight years? The King had many prospects and admirers from around the world—how could he settle for a stupid memory of a stupid boy? Unthinkable. Horrible.

What irked Romilda the most was that her greatest competitor was a memory. It was going to be really difficult, but… She smirked. That memory was stuck in their house back in Hogsmeade, still with no idea that he could have been the happiest man alive, if it weren’t for his lost memories. Draco totally had no idea what was coming; while he’d been believing that he was the son of two useless farmers, Romilda was working on taking everything he had.

That was one hurdle down.

She didn’t know who Aster Black was, but Earl Pettigrew might. He was a nobility without the property to show for it; he had a stroke of luck, however, when someone had offered him quite a bit of gold to hide the young Malfoy. He’d come to the Umbridges for help; Romilda’s mother had accepted at a price.

They were collecting that price now. First, the Earl had secured them the quarters inside the castle to increase Romilda’s chances of meeting the King. Second, he’d introduce the Umbridges to the King Harrison in two days. She hoped that it was enough to attract the interest of the King. Now, she was going to find out who Aster Black was.

 

{5}

Harry couldn’t sleep.

If Severus was right about who Aster was… well. He didn’t know what to think. His thoughts were warring inside his mind. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t hope for a moment that Aster could be… well, Draco.

But no. Harry had to stop entertaining thoughts like that.


	5. The King's Breakfast

   **The King's Breakfast**

 

 

 {1}

 

Draco was rudely roused from dreaming about large gardens and street bazaars by a weight pinning his chest. He groaned, trying to breathe, and reached out to the _thing_  that interrupted first his sleep, and now his _air supply._

There was a small yelp when his fingers closed around small, slender arms. When Draco opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of a small boy, dressed in dark blue and gold pajamas, struggling against his grip.

"Let me... L-let me go! You're not _Hawwy..."_ The small boy was saying. As soon as Draco let him go, he jumped off of him and off the bed, pulling Draco's loose duvet over himself. He apparently thought he would make himself invisible that way.

"Of course, I'm not Hawwy. My name is Dra– Aster," Draco said soothingly, sitting up to look down at wide and wary gray eyes peeking from dark green cotton sheets. "What's your name?"

The boy let out a small gasp and covered himself once more. "T-Teddy," was his muffled reply.

Draco chuckled, which made Teddy resurface from his "blanket armor" to glare at him. "You know, Teddy, sitting on people's chests while they're sleeping or hiding from them behind blankets isn't the best way to make friends."

Teddy finally removed the blanket he tossed over himself, his brown hair being more ruffled than before. "I'm sorry. It's just Hawwy told me he would visit me today and I saw you in his bed and thought you were Hawwy a-and..." The small boy took an endearing gasp of breath and exhaled, "butyouhadyellowhairandIshouldaknownsorry!"

Draco bit off another laugh about his hair being _yellow_. "I accept your apology, Teddy. And I'm sorry that you were disappointed that I'm not your Hawwy."

"Mm-hmm. Hawwy is nice and he is my favorite person. He tells me that I am cute and brave and strong and I!" he started jumping up and down the bed in front Draco. "Wanna! Be! Like! Him! When! I! Grow! Up!"

He jumped a bit more for good measure, giggling. "Hawwy promised he'd take me around the Festival today," he said, panting a little, cheeks a little flushed. "Would you like to come with us, Aster?"

Draco looked at the young boy's eager and enthusiastic face and considered the invitation. Teddy was all smiles at the prospect of going around the festival with his _Hawwy._ Draco knew how the small boy must feel; he felt the excitement too. He just wanted to throw away all his worries and roam the streets of Hogwarts, spirit floating in his long-awaited freedom. He looked forward to meeting the various people that lived in this beautiful city; sometimes he felt like his feet were itching to dance along the music and performances in the streets. He couldn't wait to taste Hogwarts food, to visit the grand Gryffindor's Gardens, to see with his own eyes the many beautiful things that used to only be descriptions in books.

There was so much to see, but they would have to wait. Draco had offered to help in the Weasleys' and Healer Figgs' business today. Mr. Weasley had been given a good spot to set up his trade in during the festival.

Draco gently pinched Teddy's chubby cheek and smiled. "I really appreciate the offer, Teddy, but I have work today."

"For the festival?"

"Yes, but I promise that if you drop by our store, I would give you special treats for free. And I will prepare for you whatever you want for breakfast."

The word _treats_ seemed to further energize Teddy. He leaped from the bed with a whoop of joy and ran out of Draco's room, shouting, "C'mon Aster! You promised me yummy treats and yummy breakfast and I wanna eat _fruits and pancakes! Hurry!"_

Draco sighed in amusement. If the whole household wasn't up yet after Teddy's excited squeals, he would walk with his hands. Shaking his head fondly, he began preparing to go down the kitchen.

 

{2}

In Gryffindor's Castle, _Hawwy_ was also having a very early morning.

As far as Harry knew, Severus and Remus had cleared this whole day for him. All appointments, meetings, and appearances were cancelled so he could make time for his godson, Teddy. Despite all this, here was Peter Pettigrew, an unpopular member of his court, calling his name feebly while he was asleep. 

For all the man's timidity, he had no reservations with breaking rules of propriety with the King.

"Earl Pettigrew," Harry bit out after sitting up. "I was certain that I've been clear about not wanting to be disturbed today."

The short, pudgy man whimpered and prostrated himself on Harry's thick, red, carpeted floor. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man. _Help me deal with this with grace, love,_  he sent the thought to Draco, wherever he was.

"Speak. For what business did you interrupt my sleep, Earl Pettigrew?" he asked.

"Y-y-your Majesty, t-the Umbridges, they are a r-r-rich and i-influential f-family from Hogsmeade, and t-they h-h-humbly r-request your presence for breakfast," Pettigrew stuttered, furiously wiping his perspiring face while bowed so low on the floor.

This time, Harry couldn't hold back a heavy sigh. He knew that the man was bluffing; the Umbridges were not as influential as they believed they are when it comes to Hogsmeade trade. They were rich, yes, but the family with the greatest contribution to the small town's markets were the Weasleys. He knew this because of the lengthy reports that Severus made him study at every end of a quarter-year.

"Stand _up_ , Earl Pettigrew," he said firmly. The man obeyed, but not without another fearful whimper. "Look at me." Harry waited until the man's small, round, black eyes met his. "This is the first and last time you will enter my quarters without my _explicit_ invitation. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Y-your M-majesty," the man answered shakily.

"You will not also _meddle_  with my daily businesses without consulting Duke Snape." 

"U-u-understood, Your Highness!" There was a pause, where Pettigrew seemed to gather up his courage and mumble, "B-b-but the L-l-lady Umbridges..."

"Will wait for me in the gardens. Now leave so I can prepare," Harry said, getting down his bed and turning his back on the stuttering man. Pettigrew was dismissed.

When Harry had heard the man's scamper and the subsequent sound of shutting doors, he sighed heavily. He really never understood how Pettigrew became a member of the court. He also didn't want to entertain the Umbridges' request, no matter who they thought they were. Since they were women, however, it would have been impolite to turn their directly delivered invitation down.

Making a mental note to talk to Severus about what Pettigrew did, and _maybe_ thank him for handling and guarding his daily schedule, Harry started preparing mint tea. He was going to need it to soothe the beginnings of a headache he was feeling.

 

{3}

Romilda looked around the grand gardens of Gryffindor's Castle. She had grown up hearing stories about how the late Queens poured their attention and care over the lands surrounding the palace. She'd heard about and _dreamed_ of spring at Hogwarts: the colors of thousands of blooming flowers, the sweet scents permeating the air, and the people celebrating the Festival of Blooms. It's quite obvious now that the stories paled in comparison to the real thing.

It was clear that even after the Queen Lily had passed away, or even in the midst of war, King Harrison hadn't overlooked to tending of the garden. From where Romilda sat, she could see multi-colored butterflies flittering over the lilies and marigolds blooming near their gazebo. The blossoms where large, and bursting with their vibrancy; they stood out in their bushes, as if the flowers were aware of their loveliness and were even more eager to flaunt it.

For Romilda, it was, all in all, _charming._

There were hundreds of other flowers and plants being tended to in other parts of the garden. The thought that, as future Queen, Romilda would continue the work of generations of Potters on this garden took her breath away. And she would do it well. She would begin, of course, by erasing away any marks or reminders of a certain Draco Malfoy, whom she knew had spent so much time with the King in this very place.

It will be all hers. Like Harrison.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Romilda saw the King approach. She watched in pleasure as the King stopped to talk to one of the gardeners pruning some rosebushes. He looked regal even in his simple evergreen tunic and robes, black breeches, and boots. His hair was still charmingly messy, and Romilda's fingers itched to touch the fine, dark strands and pull the King's face towards hers to taste--

Such indecent thoughts have no room in her mind this early morning-- this early in her plans. 

Familiar butterflies filled her stomach when Harrison's gorgeous green eyes flickered in their-- _her--_  direction.

"By the heavens, Ma! He is so, _so_  gorgeous!" exclaimed Mariette from across the table. Romilda glared at her younger sister's lack of tact, but their mother told them off.

" _Girls!_  Act proper. Our King is approaching," their mother sighed, throwing Romilda a meaning stare. Her oldest daughter got the message, and she stood up from her seat and stepped out of the gazebo to meet the King. She noted smugly how his eyebrow's raised before she curtsied before him.

"I hope it was a pleasant morning for you, Your Highness," Romilda murmured, meeting the King's eyes as she straightened up. "We apologize in behalf of Earl Pettigrew for disturbing your rest. If we had only known, we wouldn't have insisted so much for your audience."

Romilda bowed again, thinking, _'Humble and modest does it.'_

"There's no need to apologize so profusely, Young Lady Umbridge," the King replied kindly. "It was fortunate that I indeed had nothing planned this morning." 

She turned around to lead Harrison to gazebo. To her intense pleasure, the King pulled the chair for her to sit on, before taking his. 

"Thank you, My King," she said, smiling at the man softly and unable to keep the flush from her cheeks. She cleared her throat and gestured to her mother and sister. "Let me introduce to you my mother, Lady Dolores Umbridge, and my younger sister, Marietta."

"I'd been looking forward for so long to meet you, Your Highness," Dolores said saccharinely, offering her chubby, bejeweled hand to Harrison, who graciously kissed it. She let out a girlish giggle before throwing her flustered daughter a sharp look. "I would apologize for my daughter. In her excitement to meet and apologize to you, she forget to introduce herself. Romilda always had the tendency to forget her basic propriety lessons when she's excited."

The king let out a small chuckle. "Don't be embarrassed, Lady Romilda. None of us can't quite meet the demands of etiquette and tradition so completely." Romilda looked up in time to see him turn to her mother. "You have raised your daughters well, Lady Umbridge."

Dolores was smug. "I make sure that my daughters _always_  get the best, Your Majesty."

" _Mommy_ \-- I meant, Mother-- always gives us what we want, King Harrison," Marietta piped up, smiling sweetly. She was hiding her sugar-coated fingers behind her teacup, to Romilda's annoyance. She had to grit her teeth to be patient when she realized that the King had noticed too.

The morning _had_ started so _well._  She had hoped that the she could make a pleasant impression on the young King, but Marietta couldn't even wait for the King to start eating before she did. She couldn't even follow the simple script given to her. It didn't matter right now, though. She was going to get another opportunity to meet with Harrison, _no matter what._

 

{4}

Harry had to admit that the Umbridges weren't a bad company for breakfast. They acted like any other noble family he had shared a meal with. He was impressed by Romilda's manners and apparent intelligence; Marietta, on the other hand, was hilarious. 

They talked about Hogsmeade's current trades, and the Umbridges expressed their excitement about the Festival. He indulged them with conversations about the preparations for the Festival, while Romilda kept on offering to refill his cup of tea.

"I think another cup of this chamomile tea will give you more energy for today's tasks, My King," she said, holding the teapot delicately, smiling shyly at Harry. It was going to be his third cup, but let Romilda pour the tea anyway.

He wasn't oblivious, though. Harry had sat through various meals like this before. Royal and noble families would introduce to him their sons and daughters in the guise of trips and dinner parties. Even during the war, they harbored the hope that Harry would make marriage his choice in strengthening the kingdom.

Romilda was a beautiful girl. However, as far as Harry was concerned, her blue eyes were no different to countless of other pairs that had looked at him with shyness and quiet hope before.

"Your Highness, you said that you have this morning free. Perhaps, you can spare some time to walk with us around the garden?" she asked with a small smile. "Earl Pettigrew told us we are free to roam around, but I think it will be more enjoyable with your stories and company."

Harry had done this so many times before.

"I'm sorry, but I would have to refuse. I promised to meet with someone today, and I don't want to disappoint them by being late," he said as apologetically as he could. "You have all been a pleasant company this morning, and I urge you to enjoy your tours in the garden."

He stood up and smiled at them. "I will take my leave now." 

 

{5}

Romilda watched the King's retreating form. When he was out of sight, she sighed and pulled out the vial hanging in a golden chain around her neck. She smirked at it, and then at her mother.

"Three drops a day does it, my flower," Dolores simpered, spooning cake into her small mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, then said, "The King will be feeding from the palm of your hand by the end of this festival."

Thoughts focused on a wedding, and plans for power and influence, Romilda nodded, her fingers stroking the crystal vial lovingly. Its blood-red liquid seemed to stare back at her, taunting at her inability to win the man she loved alone. She had been saving these precious drops of nectar for more than five years now, bidding her time, just for this opportunity.

" _The tears of Adonis' true flowers are a weeping Aphrodite's blessing,"_ she murmured under her breath. " _They will fulfill the desires of the most desperate lover."_

This vial surely would.

 

{6}

Harry was standing in front of his parents' graves, looking at the portraits hanging above the space where their ashes were kept. Here in the space where their remains are left to rest, hidden in the woods behind the castle, Harry pretends that the previous King and Queen's smiles were actually filled with life. As if they weren't really gone.

"Mum... Dad..." Harry said, not knowing where to start. It's been eight years since he'd heard their voices, had their last conversation, and he missed it every day. He was thankful that Severus, Remus, and the other people who stood as his family were there; despite this, it was ironic how he could never confide with the living the way he wanted to with those who were dead.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and reached up to touch where the sunlight kissed his mother's face. The oil and canvas were rough against his fingers, and he realized that he could not remember the softness of his mother's cheeks.

He tried speaking again. "I'm sorry that it took me so long to visit again. Well, the war's over now, though. The North surrendered and agreed to sign a treaty with us. They're no longer allowed to step inside the kingdom."

He smiled a little shakily when he remembered how it felt to prepare for a war, thinking he was all alone. He had woken up to many mornings looking forward to asking his parents for advice, or looking to Draco for comfort, only to realize that he was very much _left alone_  to deal with the problems beyond his years.

It still hurt.

"We're holding a Heroes' Festival, too-- for everyone who fought for peace. Almost the whole kingdom has gathered in Hogwarts. I wish you could see it-- there are so many shops, performances, and street parties set up. Everyone is celebrating." As Harry paused to think about what to say next, his eyes lingered to the small family portrait resting below his mother and father's. The Malfoys' smiles were _happy_. A twelve-year-old Draco stood between his parents, holding both of their arms tight. 

"I think all of you will enjoy the Festival."

Carefully, Harry sat on the bench in front of the grave. He doesn't know what to say anymore, except that he was felt so alone, and all he wanted to feel was... all he wanted  was...

"I'm so sorry," he said shakily, wiping at the traitorous tears escaping to his cheeks. "I know I'm supposed to be brave and strong. I'm supposed to listen to Severus and finally, _finally_  move on, but I _can't._ I'm so sorry that I became a King who shows weakness like this. I can't help it if I always _need_  you, Mum, Dad." Harry allowed himself to wish for his father's firm embrace and his mother soothing touches. He imagined pale, slender arms wrapping themselves around him securely, a soft voice hushing him gently, and quicksilver eyes looking at him with understanding.

For everything he had lost, Harry let go and allowed himself to just _yearn._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for being such a bad author! *cries* Life crashed in and demanded to be dealt with, so my fanfics had to take a backseat. I'm done with school now, though, and currently _very free_ , so I've been picking up the good ol' notebook once more.
> 
> I apologize for any spelling, punctuation, or grammatical errors in this chapter. I had to type all these in my phone's Evernote because my laptop's not available at the moment. I would proofread again ASAP.
> 
> I still don't think I could apologize enough for abandoning this for so, so long. Rest assured, though, I'm a little advanced in writing the chapters, so I will update every Sunday. *pinky promises*
> 
> Please review and tell me what you think! *offers peace cookies and cupcakes*
> 
> -L

**Author's Note:**

> Please review and tell me what you think about this fic/chapter! I'd give you cookies and muffins for a comment. *shows tray* 
> 
> Love, L.


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